


Ankle-deep

by SydneyFlaire



Series: Bayani Universe [16]
Category: Goyo: Ang Batang Heneral (2018)
Genre: Blood, Foreshadow of death, Memory, Precognition, Premonition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyFlaire/pseuds/SydneyFlaire
Summary: There was a certain person whom Goyo considered to be his greatest inspiration to have the urge of joining the revolution and to fight for his motherland. And he took it as a standard of even sacrificing too much for that ultimate goal of independence. However, when things are starting to go astray, he surely need to remember what really brought him in the middle of all these things in the first place.





	Ankle-deep

**Author's Note:**

> The fifth one-shot as part of the #GoyoAngstStories.  
> You can also see my works on wattpad and fanfiction as "SydneyFlaire".  
> Follow me on twitter @JerseyLeigh for more updates. ;)

If there was something that hated the Boy General when the latter so badly needed it, it would be sleep.

His slumber was always troubled by nightmares. The horror of war had made a trigger point on his head every single time he closed his eyes. He had seen too much blood and death, heard the sound of pains and cannons, smelled the lingering odor of corpses and gun powder, and felt the bitterness of agony with every injury.

All of it contributed too well for him to lose sleep. Or rather, be troubled with just the thought of it. And gave him the pretense of alertness that immediately woke him up just by hearing even the slightest of sounds.

His dreams worsened since he joined the revolution. Eluding his senses much closer to insanity evey single time; too fast just as how he climbed the ranks.

But it all started with just a single thought—a heartbreak and loss—and it had been all of Goyo’s undoing.

He wasn’t there when it happened. He was at Kakarong de Sili at that time. But Vicente was. He asked him upon their meeting how his friend died in order to know how to properly die fighting for their beloved motherland.

It had been his ultimate goal. The one thing that made him understand all too well that he would sacrifice his life one day for the country. And yet, his dreams right now were filled with taunting actions that made him question his own worth.

He opened his eyes, staring at the almost torn ceiling right above him. Wooden slabs were hanging precariously as if they were to fall right above him at any moment. This was a new one; the first time he dreamt of this in comparison to how his dreams had been lately that revolved about what he had witnessed before sleep. This one… he hadn’t.

He was lying on his back. The ground where he was felt warm and sticky. He turned his eyes to the side, seeing right away the piles of corpses around him, and the arching pillars that made him see that he was inside a church.

“Goyong…” someone called his name amidst the dream.

He remained immobile— _shocked_ —with hearing the voice. He was pinned on his position just as how he felt the tears starting to build at the corner of his eyes. Of course, he knew that voice too well.

“Sino ba talaga ang iyong ipinaglalaban?”

He struggled to answer, “Ang bansang Pilipinas.”

“Iniibig mo ba ang bayang ito?”

“Alam mo na ang sagot diyan. Bakit mo pa ako tinatanong?”

_“Tahol, Goyo. Tahol,”_ another man’s voice echoed from a far distance. The mocking bark of a dog growing nearer and nearer.

Goyo closed his eyes.

“Unti-unti ka nang hindi nagiging sundalo, Goyong,” the first man remarked as the other’s voice and the dog’s barking disappeared. “Unti-unti ka nang nabubulag na sumamba sa isang tao, hindi sa prinsipyo na sinasabi mong ipinaglalaban mo.”

“Hindi ba’t pare-pareho lang naman tayo ng ipinaglalaban sa simula’t simula?” Goyo inquired, straining his eyes above him to see the speaker, but he hasn’t found any. “Hindi ba’t ang nais lamang natin ay makitang malaya ang Pilipinas?”

“Kung ganoon, Goyong…” the man continued. His light footsteps caused the ankle-deep red liquid to show a ripple and made a dripping sound as he moved. “…lumaban ka na handang mamatay para sa bansang pareho nating iniibig. Hindi para patuloy na protektahan ang isang tao na parang isang asong sunud-sunuran sa anumang ipakain nito.”

Finally, Goyo saw the face that hovered above him. The familiar face that he had known too well. The tears trickled down his face; making him wonder how he was going to tell his aidé-de-camp all this when he woke up.

“Hindi ka aso, Goyong,” his late best friend remarked, “Ikaw si _Aguila_ …”

Anacleto Enriquez’s name left his lips as he mouthed the words. Just as how Anacleto’s words gave him the power to inquire the same question to the sixty men he was able to spare for this last stand of his. He knew what was coming, and so he knew what must be done.

“Iniibig niyo ba ang bayang ito?” he inquired, receiving a strong and steady response of assurace. “Kung ganon, tanggapin ang anumang kapalarang sasapitin natin sa ngalan ng pag-ibig.”

_“Lumaban ka na handang mamatay para sa bansang pareho nating iniibig,”_ he remembered Anacleto telling him; one that truly made him see the truth of it all.

“Walang mga bayani sa bundok na ito,” he continued. “Tayo’y mga sundalo na puno ng pag-ibig… hindi ng galit.”

_Ako si Aguila_ , he pondered. _Patungong langit, Matanglawin._


End file.
